A little portly man with an evident air of authority was talking to a woman in a flowing cloak. Emphasizing his remarks with true Gallic gestures, but with all his excitement making an evident effort to be guarded in his tone, he was all oblivious to Paul's presence.
The girl Paul could not see plainly, but it was with some unaccountable notion of doing her a service, and not with the remotest idea of eavesdropping, that he stepped softly and silently to the further side of a tree trunk.
Then he heard the girl's voice saying in low, quiet, earnest accents:
"Why will you not let me rest? Why do you pursue me in this way? Surely it is inhuman to adopt these methods. Is it fair to follow me to a place like this and insult me in this way?"
The man mumbled something which Paul could not catch.
Then he heard the girl utter a little cry.
"Look!" she exclaimed eagerly. "Look! I will make you an offer. Free me from this horrible nightmare, give me your word that you will not persecute me further, and I will give you these."
Paul heard the rustle of draperies, and was conscious that the girl reached out her hands.
The man greedily took something from her. His head was bent over the object, whatever it might be, long and earnestly.
Then he heard a thick voice say in French: "They are beautiful, very beautiful. But what are they to us? You think they are worth a hundred thousand roubles, eh? Suppose they are—what of that? Do you think a hundred thousand roubles will save you? Bah!"